


all i see is a glow

by chininja



Series: Easy Like Breathing [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Inspired by Maid in Manhattan, Making Out, Older Man/Younger Woman, Some Sexual Harrassment, it's actually not that grave but warning just the same, some victim blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 16:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chininja/pseuds/chininja
Summary: Sometimes when you have a shit day at work, you really just need to go have a nice long bath in claw tub at your boyfriend's apartment. Even when he's not there.(Title from All My Life by K-Ci & Jojo)





	all i see is a glow

Sansa has had a shit day.

She just came from a double shift at the hotel, covering for Ros. Sansa didn’t mind, especially when the older woman explained that her younger brother had come down with the flu and had no one to look after him at home. It was a Friday night anyway, she thankfully no longer had Saturday morning classes, and Jaime was out of town to “kiss some politicians’ asses” down in DC and won’t be returning until midday tomorrow.

In the past four years that Sansa has worked as a maid, she knew how cruel people can be to those they think are beneath them. They take one look at you and your uniform, and a haughtiness comes upon their faces. It’s inevitable. _Simply part of the job_ , as Nan is fond of saying especially after being in the hospitality industry for a little over than twenty years. Sansa’s experienced it first-hand too. The matronly wives with their string of pearls and tweed skirts were almost always the worst.

And Sansa, for all that she does her job well and even enjoys working with the other people in the hotel, considered very much to let her pettiness take over.

To think she was the harassed party.

She was finishing up with one of the rooms and was just about to get the complimentary bottles of water from her cart when she feels a hand roughly grope her ass. When she turns to look around, her face already red in anger, she sees a man in his forties leaning against the wall with a goddamned smirk on his face. Sansa wishes she could unleash Arya on this asshole, but instead sharpens her words like they’re the knives she wants to cut him with.

“Lost control of your hand there, sir?” she confronts him plainly.

“Nah, just thought my hand would go really well with your pert little ass.” Sansa hears the slight slurring of his words and of course. That’s just what all women need to complete their day, isn’t it? Another drunk man who thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind. Sansa nearly scoffs at the thought. When the man waves his hand in emphasis, she sees a glint of gold on his finger, and she just _barely_ stifles a groan.

“I assure you, sir, it doesn’t. I’m sure that your wife would more than agree with me, when I tell you that you really need to keep your hands to yourself.” She desperately wants to let lose the cutting words that are at the tip of her tongue, but she’s the help and this is her job. And Sansa’s not too naïve to think that management would side with her on this, even if it’s clearly this guest’s fault.

She turns to push her cart so she can finally leave this man to whatever nastiness she assumes he’ll start doing once she’s gone. But he has a strong grip on her arm and he’s tugging her back into his space. Sansa slaps him hard on the face, just in time for the wife to round the corner they were in and witness her retaliate.

And here’s the other reason why Sansa thinks prissy, pearls and tweed wearing women are the worst: when they can’t control their husbands’ wandering hands, the person they blame is –

“You hussy! What gives you the right to slap a paying guest?!”

She takes her arm back when the husband’s hand goes slack, and faces the wife. Sansa thinks she must’ve been beautiful when she was younger – blonde hair, blue eyes, aristocratic nose she probably used to look down on people. But Sansa also thinks, that marriage to her sleazy husband took those away from her and left her with a cold sort of beauty.

“Ma’am, I think it’s better if I leave you and your husband to talk?” Sansa tries her hardest to remove herself from this situation. Not just because she’s been on this job for the past fourteen hours, but because she really, _really_ , doesn’t want to get into this mess. It is when the woman insists that she explain herself, that her boss walks by and sees the three of them. She breathes a sigh of relief because even if Mr. Martell can be promiscuous in his personal life, he’s professional at work. Most importantly, he has zero patience for ungentlemanly behavior.

She looks at him pleadingly to help her out. And if she weren’t so head over heels stupidly in love with Jaime (or that it was outrageously improper), Sansa thinks she could’ve kissed Oberyn for passing by when he did. He strides in confidently and successfully diverts the wife’s attention from her and onto how the hotel could possibly make it up to them. When she feels she can finally extricate herself from that kerfuffle, she moves quickly and straight into the open elevators.

The rest of her shift went by with a few more hiccups, but nothing as headache-inducing as the scene in the hallway. When she finally reaches the end of her shift, Sansa gets her timecard and clocks out for the day at eight in the morning. Her tired feet takes her to the subway and straight to Jaime’s apartment. After the day she’s had, Sansa just wanted some quiet. And the claw tub in his bathroom, she knows, would soothe every ache she’s earned in just the past sixteen hours.

She goes through the basement entrance, because while the staff in his building are paid to be discreet, she didn’t want to risk anything. They still haven’t told anyone, and Sansa knows that Jaime’s been working so hard the past several months on a law he wants passed that any scandal would just prevent its fruition.

“Ms. Stark,” Addam, the doorman stationed at the basement, greets her. Sansa sees his warm eyes appraise her as she draws closer. “Long day?”

Sansa hums in response as she stretches her neck, trying to get a crick out. “You don’t even know the half of it.” He looks at her sympathetically. “Get a good rest then Ms. Stark.”

Sansa gives him a tired smile in return. “Thanks Addam, hope nothing too exciting happens for you today.” She quips after going in the elevator. The snort he gives is the last thing she hears before the doors close, and Sansa gives a chuckle of her own.

\---

She goes in his apartment with the keys he left her with (“Just to feed the cat, babe.” “You don’t have a cat, _babe_ ”), kicks of her sneakers and leaves a trail of clothing that she’ll have to remember to pick up later. Meanwhile, the bathtub calls.

She’s down to her bra and underwear when she reaches the bathroom. She has the water gathering in the tub as she chooses the oils she want to put in it. She gives a slight smile the moment she remembers gifting them to him. Because truthfully, it really wasn’t for him. It was for her use, disguised as his present, because he has better amenities than the shitty apartment she shares with her college best friend.

She closes the tap, drops generous amounts of lavender oil into the soapy water, piles her hair in a bun atop her head, and strips the remainder of her clothing all in good time. As she steps into the water, Sansa couldn’t help the moan that comes out of her, and feels the warmth loosen the tightness in her back. Once she scatters the petals from a potted plant by the window sill, Sansa finally allows herself to savor the luxury of the bath. And not for the first time since she and Jaime got together, she thanks whatever god is out there that finally thought to give her a break after a string of terrible boyfriends.

“Well this is a nice surprise.” Behind the obvious leer in his voice, Sansa detects mirth. She can’t help the smile that tugs her lips upwards at the sound of genuine joy when he sees her naked in his bathtub. A charming senator he may be, but Jaime Lannister is still a warm-blooded man.

“Careful now,” her voice low, almost a murmur that teases Jaime’s senses. “My boyfriend’s due any minute and I don’t think he’ll appreciate a strange man peeping in on me.” Her eyes are still closed but she doesn’t need to see him to hear the huff he releases at her words.

“Aren’t you cheeky,” he means to be reprimanding, but at this point, Jaime’s just aroused.

Sansa opens one of her eyes to look at him. His jacket he must have left in the room, his tie is dangling between his fingers, and his socked feet brings him to the edge of the tub in a squat beside her. She traces a wet finger along the bridge of his nose, and wipes her thumb on his bottom lip. “Why don’t you strip down so you can be cheeky here with me?” Sansa revels in Jaime’s laugh, the kind where he’s not trying to impress the public or the people in his office. The laugh that Tyrion grew up on. The laugh that Sansa has been able to draw out more and more.

When he kisses her for her words, he takes her breath away. The press of their lips, the sliding of tongues, his warm hand at the back of her neck twisting the wisps of hair that have fallen from her bun. He sucks on her bottom lip and nips it lightly before moving away from her. Wanting to prolong the contact, she moves closer to chase his lips and pouts when he laughs at her as he stands.

“Where are you going?” she doesn’t bother to mask the whine in her voice, because damn. She can’t get enough of his kisses.

“Didn’t you tell me to get cheeky with you?” And that’s when Sansa notices that he’s unbuttoning his dress shirt and toeing of his socks at the same time. It takes her about a second later to realize that she’s also at an eye level with his crotch, and if she cranes her neck just so, she can mouth –

“Stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

She looks at him from beneath her lashes, wets her lips, and lifts one delicate shoulder in response to his scolding.

“Minx.”

She scoots forward in the tub when he’s as devoid of clothing as she is, and immediately leans back against his chest once he’s found a comfortable position. “Hey,” she feels more than hears the rumbling of a greeting on her back. “Hey yourself.” She turns to face him in time to see him moving closer to her, and they eventually close the gap. She places a hand on his cheek. The hint of stubble she feels causes her to involuntarily rub her legs together, as the memory of how it felt scratching on the insides of her thighs comes to mind.

She sighs when Jaime angles her head to kiss her deeper, more thoroughly, as if he wants to devour her. And Sansa would let him, without a doubt. She gasps when he squeezes a breast, and his finger circles her nipple into stiffness, pinching it until it was nice and rosy like the flush in her cheeks. She feels overheated from the warm bath, the warmth of his body, from how _hot_ he’s making her feel.

Sansa leaves open mouth kisses along his neck, his jaw, until she reaches his ear where she licks his earlobe into her mouth. “I missed you, baby.” She whispers in his ear, and the hand that was on her breast travels low to her mound, stopping just short of where she wants his fingers to be, his other hand smooths the inside of her bent thigh. She can feel his cock pressing against her back, and as much as she wants to take care of it for him, she wanted to make sure he knows just how much the time apart from each other affected her. Jaime leaves his own trail of kisses, from her cheek, down to her neck, and along her shoulders. “I’ve missed you too, baby.”

Sansa smiles at this. Because as much as they turn each other on, Sansa loves this part too. She loves that they can tell each other how they feel without overthinking. She loves that they can joke around each other, be silly and do dumb things. She thinks that’s important for her; that despite the age gap, she doesn’t make him feel old when they’re together and he doesn’t act condescendingly towards her in return.

“So. A drunk guest groped me at work today.” She says by way of breaching the silence that’s settled between them. She knows this bit of an update would upset him so she laces their fingers together and settles them atop her belly. And just like she thought, she felt his fingers tighten in hers.

“Please tell me you sucker punched the bastard.” Her laughter eases some of the tension that’s started to gather in him. “No, but I did slap him in the face.” She is able to treat it lightly now that she’s cooled down; find the humor she had no way of marshalling when it was actually happening to her.

“That’s my girl,” Jaime whispers in her ear and punctuates it with a kiss to her temple.

“The wife called me a hussy though.” Sansa continues, not wanting to dwell on how bad it made her feel and ended up really sympathizing for the wife. “Why do I not detect a justifiable amount of outrage in your voice then?” He asks as he noses the spot behind her ear, urging her to explain.

“I sort of felt bad for her.” She turns and leans on his right arm so that she could face him. “Is that weird of me to say?” Jaime untangles one of his hands from hers and smooths the furrowing of her brows, her distress clearly showing. “No babe,” He mumbles to the skin of her wrist. “You’re just a better person than most.” She turns completely in his arms then, so that she’s still in between his legs and her legs are on either side of his waist. It jostles the water out of the tub, but neither of them pay mind to the mess.

“The funny thing is I took one look at her, and saw that it was probably not what she thought her life was going to be.” She traces abstract patterns on his chest as she thinks out loud. “She was probably in love with her husband, once upon a time, and never thought to be among the number of women in the world that had been cheated on.”

Sansa looked so concerned, Jaime wanted so bad to alleviate some of it. A bleeding heart, his girl has.

“That won’t be us, right?” Her voice sounded so small, Jaime almost didn’t catch it. “Not that I want us to be married right now,” she pedals back right away. “But I just mean, I don’t want us to get to the point where we just intentionally make each other unhappy.” And she says it so sincerely, he wants nothing more than to make it a reality for her.

“I promise you, Sansa, we’ll never get to that point.” He takes her doodling hand and places it firmly on his chest where she can feel his heart thud along. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Jaime declares, green eyes staring into her blue ones. “I won’t do anything to jeopardize my relationship with you.” The smile she gives in return shines brilliantly back at him.

“Even when I’m being a brat?”

He chuckles.

“Especially when you’re being a brat.”

They don’t say it explicitly, but in that moment they both knew they would go through hell for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> It's funny, I find writing for this ship comes more naturally for me. lol. Do let me know how you found this.
> 
> You can also find me in tumblr as chininja.


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